A String Tribute
by sychofrantic
Summary: Me ripping off a few of my favourite authors through this crazy fandom. Enjoy. WARNINGS: swearing, drug use, implied FreddyZack slash.


Title: A String Tribute

Summary: Me ripping off a few of my favourite authors through this screwed up

fandom. Enjoy.

Warnings: A little slash and drug use.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, least of all this medley of plots.

"So, ah, written any good songs lately?"

Yes, I do want to kill you, why do you ask?

"You can't ignore me all night, Mooneyham."

"No, just the rest of my life."

"Hah! You're talking to me. I knew we'd make it up."

Zack seethed in the darkness while Freddy's giant of a motor rumbled under him. He rarely felt anger quite this intense. But then, Freddy had never fucked up so utterly before. Well, he had, it just had never involved Zack getting kicked out of his own house before.

"I'm sorry man. Seriously."

Zack didn't trust himself to say anything, just gripped his overnight bag in his white fists and seethed some more. It wasn't enough that Freddy had stumbled into his house, drunk, at one in the morning while his parents were at the opera. It wasn't enough that Zack had to practically force clothes upon the naked intoxicated 19-year-old. It wasn't enough that he had to hear the slurred story behind every single love bite that covered Freddy's body. There were 48 of them. It wasn't enough that when Zack had accidentally fallen asleep, his 'friend' had navigated his way to the kitchen where his parents were having a post-outing coffee, wearing nothing but a pair of Zack's boxers and 48 love bites. But then, to make matters worse, he had to strike up a suggestive conversation with his parents, explaining to them of their son's debt to him of around twenty dollars. Which had nothing to do with the sex his parents thought they'd had, but it was good enough for them.

"Zack? I didn't know what I was doing. I was drunk, I didn't think."

"You were drunk?!" He felt sarcasm and indignation crawling up his windpipe and tightening. He swallowed it and felt like throwing up. "Just," he said, his voice thick with anger, "Just shut up, man."

Freddy nodded solemnly and turned the car to park in front of a dilapidated, shithole of an apartment building. Zack had never been to Freddy's house. He wondered whether it was because Freddy was ashamed, then also realised that him and Freddy weren't really the 'come over to my house' type. In fact, Freddy hadn't been to his house since they'd held an emergency band practice at his house in ninth grade because the 'School of Rock' building was being fumigated.

"Why did you have to come?" Zack spat as he stormed up the stairs, "Sure my student loan ran out and I had to move back in with my parents, sure it's now an hour bike ride to fucking uni. And sure, yeah, I still have model plains hanging precariously from my ceiling and sleep in a bed that smells like melted cotton poly-blend because of that one time I set fire to it, but fucking hell Freddy, why'd you have to fuck all that up?"

When Freddy burst out laughing, Zack wondered for the sixth time that night if murder was still a crime if there were appropriate circumstances. But he didn't have time to contemplate it as much as he'd liked because Freddy steered him to the next door on the right. Number 48. He clenched his jaw.

"Welcome to Le Mansion de Freddy," Freddy quipped after fumbling for the keys and throwing open the door with extravagance. If fell half off it's hinges. "Whoops. I'll get Donnie to have a look at that later."

He'd seen better living situations in the toilet first thing in the morning.

"S'not much," Freddy acknowledged, tripping over a mound of dirty dishes and smashing one, "Spot of cleaning, dab of paint..."

"A visit from the board of health," Zack finished disgustedly, "how can you live like this?"

"It's no palace, I'll admit," he replied, self-consciously straightening the coffee table with three legs to it's normal and upright position, pushing over a dead potted plant in the process.

"It's a dump."

"It's home," Freddy said defensively, before smiling unsurely, "for both of us now I guess, huh?"

What if Freddy slipped and fell onto a dirt-encrusted fork he happened to be holding. Was that murder?

Zack awoke like a tired, old dog that knew its owner was going lead it outside, tie it up and blow it away with a double-barrelled shotgun.

Very reluctantly.

The moment of confusion and lack of recollection was brutally rebuffed in favour of a deep and keen disappointment. No, it wasn't just a nightmare. Yes, his parents thought he was gay and he was holed up in Freddy's second-hand bed. In Freddy's house. With Freddy snoring into his ear and memories of his father yelling and booting them both out of his while his mother cried and poured vodka straight down her throat.

He rolled out of bed and groaned. He hadn't taken off his clothes because of the other man sleeping in the bed who was almost naked, even though they were one of the three sets he'd managed to get out of the house and Freddy didn't have an ironing board. Or a washer or drier. There was no way to even suspend one length of wire from one place to another as a clothesline because legally, Freddy wasn't allowed to touch the walls as they belonged to another tenant who'd bribed the landlord because a) Freddy played loud music just above him, constantly, and b) he hated Freddy. Zack could empathise.

"D'you need a ride to class?" Freddy inquired, obviously having just woken up.

Zack looked down on him with disdain, "It's Saturday. I don't have classes until Tuesday."

"D'you need one then?" he said eagerly, sitting up and revealing 29 of his 48 love bites.

"No, I'll just take my bike," he snapped, before realising with a rush of embarrassment that his bike was locked up in the garden shed with no way of retrieving it.

"Are you sure? 'Cause I want to make it up to you. What with you being kicked out and all."

His eyes flashed but he privately thanked Freddy for handing him back his pride. "Yes. Fine."

"Cool!" he exclaimed, leaping out of bed to reveal the boxers Zack had leant him, "Want waffles? I think I still have some left in the freezer."

"No."

"Eggs?"

"No."

"Cereal?"

"You have cereal?"

"No."

"I'm going out."

"Where?"

"None of your business."

"Wait!"

"What?"

Freddy strode over to the only function drawer and pulled it open, the picked up a polythene bag full of what suspiciously looked like oregano.

"You want?"

His day was getting steadily better.

Something was wrong with his face. Well, his ears anyway. Every time he brushed his hands over them, it gave him an almost amusing rush of pleasure. He realised, in his intoxicated state, that he couldn't have looked quite... not intoxicated, rubbing his ears and giggling. So he dropped his hands and watched Freddy rolling a joint with his tongue bitten between his teeth.

"You roll," Zack said, forgetting to be pissed at him, "the neatest little joint I've ever seen."

Freddy grinned up at him through his messy, unwashed hair, "Don't I though? Picked it up from an old girlfriend, actually. The trick is not to over fill it and wet your nails before."

Zack nodded appreciatively, his head falling back as it filled with blood, and hissed in pain as he touched the ember of his burning joint, "Fuck."

"Here, have another," his blonde companion offered, after taking a drag himself. The end was wet with his spit but Zack inhaled anyway.

Cough, "This is so fucking good."

Freddy smirked and just watched him.

Cough, "You know, I haven't had pot this good since England."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Eddie?"

"Mmm, and Cathy," they said together, before bursting out laughing.

"With the..."

"Yeah, I know! And the..."

"Oh my god!"

Okay, apparently pot turned them into eight-year-old girls. Fuck it, Zack hadn't had this much fun in ages. He seized the joint back from Freddy and stood up, pacing.

"We should get the band back together," Zack said fervently, his eyes bright and red.

"Screw the band, man. You want waffles?"

"No, I don't want waffles!" he cried passionately, though his mouth filled with saliva at the thought, "I want the band back together."

"Don't go all Blues Brothers on me when I'm stoned."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I. You know it went to hell when Dewey left. It's over."

He paused, studying his joint before passing it back, "What happened to Dewey?"

"Cathy!" they screeched simultaneously, before giggling madly.

"You wanna watch Futurama?" Freddy asked, after the hysterics, "I taped it the other night."

"Sure. Why not?" 'Because I need a job if I'm ever gonna get out of here. Because something smells funny that isn't the pot. Because a cockroach just crawled over my foot. Because I saw a laundrette on the way here and I could make it back in time for Passions if I hurry. Because the pot's making me horny and if Leela does that whole karate girl act I may come in my pants.' "Whack it on."

For the second time in one day, Zack woke up feeling acute disappointment. This time it was for three reasons, they were a) he knew he'd slept all through the day, right up to that part of the afternoon that made you feel like shit if you hadn't achieved anything, b) he still lived in Freddy's hellish apartment and c) he was still horny.

"Hey man," Freddy said, leaning over him, "Nice nap?"

"What are you wearing?"

He looked down at his purple tracksuit pants made of parachute material and frowned, "Oh yeah, bought these at a garage sail. Only a dollar."

"Do you ever wear shirts?"

"Only when I'm outside. Saves washing 'em." He scratched the hair beneath his navel and wandered over to the bathroom, "you wanna do something tonight?"

"I thought I'd go out," he said, his voice thin. He hoped Freddy didn't want to come, he was still smarting from the getting him kicked out thing and he had a feeling Freddy wasn't very companionable in public.

"Cool," Freddy replied, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

He blinked, "Would you like to come?" Dammit, dammit. Stupid fucking idiot.

Freddy burst out, eyes wide and hopeful, "Yeah?"

Zack rolled his eyes, "Yeah."

"Yeah, but you pay all right? I'm a little short." He practically skipped back into the bathroom, and Zack heard him whistle as the shower hissed on.

What if he slipped on a strategically planted bar of soap. Was that murder?

"What is this place?" Zack yelled over the noise.

"Oh, you haven't been here? The service is excellent."

Well, that's what Zack heard him say. It could have been 'Have sex with a Mexican' for all Zack knew. The music was loud and demanding, making his drug-riddled brain throb. He leaned over, feeling very much the killjoy, and said, "I thought we were going some place quiet!"

Freddy yelled back something that sounded oddly like 'no' and grabbed Zack by the hand to lead him through the crowd. He shook it off after a few seconds, but Freddy didn't seem to mind as he located them a prime table... right in front of the stage.

"Freddy," he squeaked, panicked, "Is-Is-Is this a strip club?" The half-naked woman gyrated her hips and he swallowed and asked again.

"God, you're so innocent, aren't you?" He could see Freddy's teeth shine in the darkness and wanted to punch them all out.

"No, I'm just not a sick pervert who..."

"Relax, Mooneyham. I only come here for the food."

"Right sure, never heard that one before," he snapped, standing up to leave. A hand put pressure on his thigh that made him sit down with shock.

"Stay." He said it too quietly so it was drowned out by music and the stomping of the stripper's stilettos, but Zack saw his lips move around the 'a' and froze uncertainly, suddenly feeling uncomfortable and weird. "I need someone to pay for me. The chicken strips are $4.99 a plate."

Oh. Well.

"Fine," he sulked, pulling out his wallet and ignoring the blonde stripper's feather-clad breasts as they brushed his face. Freddy slipped a two-dollar bill down her g-string and patted her on the bottom. She left.

"What? Don't look at me like that. She was bothering you, wasn't she? I took care of it, didn't I?" He sent a strange look in the stripper's direction before looking back at him earnestly.

"Whatever, man."

"Hi, can I help you?" chirped a busty redhead in a peephole bra and short-shorts.

"A plate of spicy chicken strips please," Zack said meekly, placing ten dollars on her tray of empty shot glasses, "k-keep the change."

She winked and pinched his cheek, her false nail scratching him under the eye, "Thanks, handsome."

"Don't give them five-dollar tips," Freddy scowled after she'd gone, "they'll follow you around like fucking parasites now."

"And that's a bad thing?" he joked, trying to hide his surprise at Freddy's biting tone.

"No," he said finally, his voice absent as he looked disinterestedly around the club. As the night went on and he and Freddy got drunker and drunker, Zack remembered a time in his childhood, when his parents didn't think he was a homosexual, where he used to go the carnival every time it came to town. He particularly enjoyed the ride 'Gee Whizz'. It was a twisting, turning ride of madness. When you started to get off it, it would start again, jerking you around like helpless rag doll. Being with Freddy was like being with a human 'Gee Whizz', only distinctly less fun.

"Want to get some prostitutes?" Freddy said lightly, finishing his seventh beer.

The ride screeched to a halt and threw Zack out of the seat.

"What?!" he choked.

"Some prostitutes," Freddy said slowly, "One each. Sixty bucks apiece. A hundred if there's two of us. What do you say?"

"What do I say?!" Zack shook his head, "Are you insane!?"

"No, see, I've been coming here for weeks and..."

"Just for the food, right?" he sneered, melodramatically jumping out of his seat and stumbling outside. It wasn't a bad idea. No, it was a good idea. It was a really good idea. He was still really horny, and the alcohol and naked ladies hadn't seemed to help... But Zack never... he didn't do prostitutes! Or have them. He's a nice boy. He lives with his parents, for god's sake! Well, he did, until...

"Zack?" Well, Freddy actually. But there he was, in all his drunken, flushed and pissed off glory.

"Jesus man, what's wrong with you?"

Zack shrugged, confusion brewing in his stomach like vomit.

Freddy's face softened, "Come on. We don't have to have prostitutes. It was just an idea."

'No! I want prostitutes, it's okay, I want them!' he wanted to scream.

So he did.

Mothballs. Why in the name of god had he eaten mothballs and... a three-day-old cheese sandwich dipped in Midori? No, no. Must be a hangover. Ah yes, there's the blinding pain.

"Nuuuughhh," he said, coughing.

A voice, startlingly similar to his made the same noise, then whispered, "what time is it?"

"Gah, arrrgh! What the fuck?" He shouted, leaping out of bed as his head played strong and painful piano. "Freddy?!"

"Hey man, some night eh?"

Sarcasm wanted to burst out of him like an over-inflated balloon, but he couldn't say a word as he covered his early-morning erection with his hands as best he could.

"Sheesh, don't tell me you don't remember it! That would be a shame. You want waffles?"

"NO I DON'T WANT ANY FUCKING WAFFLES!" Breathe in, breathe out, "Tell me what happened." But as he said it, it came back to him.

There were hookers, two of them. One was a demure brunette with a fringe that hung over her large brown eyes. Freddy took her. Zack took the busty redhead who'd pinched his cheek earlier and they headed on home.

"Jeez, what a dump!" said Karla (the redhead).

Sophia (the brunette) nodded in agreement.

"Leave it, will you?" Freddy sighed, taking off his shirt as he strode into the bedroom. Both girls followed him in. Zack didn't feel stupid, because there was no way he could in his state of mind. In fact, there was nothing he could do in his state of mind than flop onto Freddy's one and only arm chair and lay there as it collapsed under him. It felt like an hour, but it had only been a minute before a hand closed over his.

"Karla?" he rasped, opening his eyes.

"Nah," Freddy slurred, tugging on his hands, "C'mon man, they're waiting for us."

He almost forgot, "No, you go. I don't feel up to it and..." 'Why are you coming to get me?'

Freddy could only force out another 'C'mon man' before he dragged Zack up into his arms and frog-marched him into the bedroom. A rush of arousal stabbed him in the groin as he saw the two hookers sprawled naked on the bed, kissing. Karla took the initiative and pulled him down to her. That's all he needed and began to kiss her furiously, all over. She seemed to want to get this over with so she undressed him quickly and soon he was inside her and moaning.

It was a haze after that, aside from Freddy's smirking face and at some point sniffing a line of coke from Karla's belly, he remembered nothing. Freddy filled him in.

"They had drugs with them. Some coke, acid, stuff like that. They pretty much just gave it to us and didn't touch the stuff themselves. Then they took out the camera..."

He didn't see a camera. He whipped his head around and saw nothing before looking at Freddy questioningly.

"They took it with them, I reckon. But they did film us."

"Together?" he croaked, grabbing a sheet off the floor and wrapping it around himself.

"Well, we only kissed... I think."

"Why the fuck didn't you stop them?! Why didn't you do something?!"

His eyes narrowed in defense, "Same reason you didn't, okay? Don't hassle me."

"I'll hassle you all I want you sick fuck! You were fucking in on this! Now the whole world's gonna see me doing fuck knows what with you and a couple of hookers!"

Freddy hesitated, "They might not."

Zack scoffed, "Oh sure, I'm sure they're packed full of well-being and morality, I mean they are whores after all!"

"Stop yelling! The last thing I need is my neighbour confiscating my floor or whatever."

"Fine!" he yelled, grabbing his overnight bag and storming into the bathroom.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," he said, grabbing his shaving foam and deodorant from the counter.

"Stop with the melodrama for two seconds! Can't you just shut up and-and laugh about this?!"

"Why the fuck would I laugh about this?!"

"BECAUSE IT'S FUCKING FUNNY YOU ASSHOLE!"

The hum of the warm refrigerator was all they heard the few moments before Zack began to chuckle. Then, ala Hollywood movie, they both began laughing at the stupidity of it all.

"I think I'm still stoned," Zack giggled.

"Me too."

"Let's watch Futurama again," he suggested, dropping his overnight bag and promptly forgetting it.

"Okay. You a Leela fan?"

"What else? Aren't you?"

"I'm more of a Fry guy, myself."

And before Zack had time to contemplate that statement, the theme for Futurama crackled out of Freddy's ancient television set and someone began banging on the roof below them with a broomstick. They ignored it.

Fin.


End file.
